


all for one (and maybe more)

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Short & Sweet, Tumblr Prompts, collection of oneshots, cuteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: A collection of bughead tumblr prompts. Oneshots set in various au's, with different tropes, and more. Some fluff, angst, and laughter to brighten your day with some quick reads.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These have been posted on my tumblr and I've decided to stick them all in one place on here so that I won't lose them. They are bughead and mostly au.

Prompted lines: “I should have told you a long time ago.” & “You’re in love with her.”  Veronica and Jughead brotp.

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“Nice legs, Gisele.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jughead resisted giving in to the temptation to look down at his legs. How could she even see them? He pursed his lips, shuffling his feet a bit and feeling the backs of his knees sticking to red vinyl of the booth.

Fingers stilling over the keys of his laptop, he looked up when he heard the squelch of the seat across from him. From over his laptop, Jughead watched as the dark-haired girl settled herself into the booth.

“Can I help you?” he questioned, fingers itching to simultaneously reach for his beanie he’d discarded and to continue typing.

“Not unless you know of a swimming pool that isn’t akin to a petri dish in a CDC lab.”

Jughead couldn’t help but snort, “Really, Veronica?”

“It’s a cesspool, Jughead,” she said primly, folding her hands atop one another on the table.

“So, why do want a private swimming pool?” he asked, while swirling around the straw in the dregs of his once-upon-a-time strawberry milkshake. He considered ordering another, but this had already been his second.

“Because it’s hot as balls out today,” Veronica exclaimed, fanning herself with a hand for emphasis.

He winced, nodding in agreement. Hence the reason he was wearing shorts. It also didn’t help that the both of them had dark hair that pulled and soaked up the sun’s ray like a magnet.

“What about Sweetwater River?”

The look she gave him could have killed. He felt an icy shiver make its way down his spine and Jughead held his hands up in defense.

“The river water is abysmal Jughead, plus _fish_. I need not say anymore.”

He gave a ‘hmm’ and thought about some if their more affluent classmates. “Have you tried Ethel?”

“Yep,” her ‘p’ popping with a smack of her lips. “Studying abroad in France this summer,” she finished, almost sourly, just as Pop’s drew up to the table with a dark chocolate milkshake.

“Oh, thank you, Pop,” Veronica said, clasping a hand over her heart.

“Thought you could use it. It’s a scorcher out there,” the older man wiped his brow with a rag from his pants pocket, and tipped his white hat at Jughead. “You want another one, son?”

Shaking his head, Jughead politely declined and instead allowed Pop to collect his empty glass.

“Oh, there’s little I missed more than a Pop’s milkshake,” Veronica said in between slow sips of her frost covered treat.

“Isn’t there a diner on practically every corner of New York?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Jughead,” an impeccably arched brow raised at him and he forgot for just one moment that they weren’t sophomores in high school anymore.

“Right,” he mumbled, finally choosing to close the lid of his laptop. The essay he was writing for his online class could wait.

“So, how is NYU?”

“Acceptable,” Jughead said, shrugging a shoulder and tapping his fingers against the laptop his scholarship paid for. “How’s Cornell?”

“Oh, it’s everything daddy ever wanted for me that’s for sure,” Veronica paused, taking a sip of milkshake before continuing. “Betty certainly loves it.”

Ah. There it is. The thing he and Veronica had the most in common between them.

“How is Betty?”

“Wouldn’t you know? You two are always texting.”

“Sometimes that’s hard to judge. You see her everyday, in person.”

With a shrug of her shoulders, Veronica continued sipping her drink. “She seems happy.”

With a nod of his head, Jughead tried not to let anything but impasse cross his features. Of course she’s happy, why wouldn’t she be?

Just because he thought about the soul crushing 221.4 miles between them everyday for the last year didn’t mean anything.

“Stop whatever it is you’re doing with your face.”

Scrunching his nose up, Jughead frowned. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes you are. You’re doing it right now. Looking like I kicked a puppy right in front of you.”

His heart had picked up and he was surely sweating through his shirt right now, despite cool and steady breeze of air conditioning that was blowing down right in their booth.

“You know, I don’t know why you just don’t tell her.”

Jughead crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the booth. “Tell her what?”

Veronica pushed the glass towards the center of the table as she leant her elbows on it. “That you’re in love with her.”

Blinking, he tried to ignore the twisting in his gut. He knew he had never been particularly obvious, at least to Betty, but for Veronica to know…

“Listen,” she started, pointing a finger at him and then taping it on the table. “I’ve known for a long time, you look at that girl like she hung the moon. Why have you never said anything?”

Sinking down a little, Jughead pursed his lips. “Why? Because just look at the differences between us. Betty would never go for the loner weirdo like me.”

Veronica shook her head at him. “The thing is, Jughead, that you’re not such a loner like you think. You’ve got friends: Archie, Kevin, Sweet Pea, Toni, me, _Betty_. And you’re not the piece of trailer trash you always believe yourself to be.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Jughead looked away from the piercing basalt of her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Betty doesn’t like me like _that_.”

Rolling her eyes, Veronica spoke, “I have it on good authority that she might.”

The fluttering in his belly was the equivalent of a violent storm with raging waters slapping around inside him. It made made him both elated and ill.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” he said, releasing a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Plus we’re at different colleges — literal miles apart.”

“Jughead,” Veronica sighed, tilting her head at him. “You never know if something is going to work unless you _try_. Love is like…” she paused, eyes going a bit dreamy and her voice softer as she spoke, “—diving head first into the deep end of the pool, you have to forget about being able to see the bottom and just enjoy the water.”

His eyebrows rose, mouth dropping open a bit at her words. “Damn, Veronica. Where’d you hear that one?”

“Cosmo.”

Jughead snorted, but his lips turned up into a smile, Veronica’s grin infectious.

Digging into the pocket of his shorts, he threw some bills on the table to cover both his and Veronica’s milkshakes. Tucking his laptop under his arm, Jughead slid from the booth and pulled his beanie back over his head.

“Wait, where are you going?” Veronica questioned up at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it later,” he threw over his shoulder, barely catching Veronica’s squeal of excitement.

Exactly 24 minutes later, he was sitting outside Cooper house. Of course it actually only took 14 minutes to get there from Pop’s — Jughead just had to sit with his head against the steering wheel for ten minutes down the block before convincing himself to actually pull up.

He felt shaky and sweaty, _what a good impression_ , he thought as he trudged up the walk. Veronica’s words echoed in his brain, and he couldn’t leave the thought alone now. There was no way he would survive the rest of the summer if he didn’t do this now.

Raising a fist, Jughead knocked on the cherry red door. When it opened, the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left him in a rush.

“Juggie, what are you doing here?” Betty asked, her face lighting up in a brilliant smile. He took in her golden hair piled up on her head, sun-kissed skin, freckled shoulders, and strong legs — and felt his heart stutter.

Betty Cooper was infinitely out of his league.

Wiping sweaty palms on the sides of his shorts, Jughead steeled himself.

“Betts, there’s something I should have told you a long time ago…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [@jane-hoppers](https://jane-hoppers.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted lines: “You’re trembling.” & “Tell me again.” & “I want an answer goddammit!”

The rain was coming down hard and fast, splashing up from the pavement and dancing in already formed puddles. The sky dark and cloudy, the thunderous clack of lightning glinting through the air irregularly.

It had been raining for what seemed like weeks to Jughead, but in reality it was at most three days. Usually the weather didn’t sour his mood like it did to Betty, but today he was just irritable.

It hadn’t helped that he’d been trying to get a hold of his mother and Jellybean for a week now, to no avail.

Jughead was sitting at the Andrews’ kitchen table enjoying a supreme pizza with Fred and Archie,  the latter sneaking pieces of pepperoni to Vegas lying at their feet. He’d been mid bite when his phone started to vibrate against the counter.

Eyes drifted to the phone, his mother’s familiar number flashing across the screen.

Dropping his pizza down to the plate, Jughead wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled the phone up to his ear. Shuffling off the stool, he walked into the living room as he answered, “Hello?”

“Forsythe, sweetie, sorry it had taken me so long to call. I was late paying my bill and…”

Closing his eyes, Jughead leaned his head against the wall in the hallway. “Right. I just always assume the worst, you know? How’s JB?”

“Oh… well, that’s why I’m calling now, actually.”

The way his stomach was suddenly clenching and twisting had absolutely nothing to do with the greasy pizza he’d just been inhaling.

“What happened?”

Jughead could hear his mother sniffle a little and her voice dropped as if to a whisper. “Well, there was an incident and everything is fine now, but Jelly’s gonna be in the hospital a little while…”

It was like life had gotten sucked out of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The dread filling him, and bubbling up and up as he felt his hand curl hard into a fist. Jughead’s teeth ground together as he inhaled through flared nostrils.

He opened his eyes, staring out the window beside him to the storm brewing outside. “What kind of incident?”

“Oh, it was nothing really…”

“Nothing? _Nothing_? You just told me Jellybean was in the hospital, mom,” he bit out sharply.

“Well, yes, she is, but everything’s fine now…”

“Mom, tell me what happened.”

“Like I said, Jughead, everything’s fine now, no need to worry—”

The growl in his throat let loose before he realized it was brewing. “I want an answer goddammit!”

“...Jughead, _please_. I want you to understand that it was an accident…”

Squeezing his eyes shut he barely heard the words coming through the phone, like they were muffled. Could feel tears prick the corner of his eyes and knew his knuckles were white from the pain in the tightness of his fist.

When his mother was finished he heard her cries of “Forsythe?... Jughead? Are you still there?” and he let the phone slip through his fingers. He reared his arm back, fingers knotting into a fist as he punched the wall.

Pain seared up his arm, tickling his elbow and up unto his shoulder. Jughead felt the burn in his knuckles and couldn’t help but do it again, the heat searing white hot across his skin as he made contact with the drywall that was blistering and concave now.

“Jughead?”

Archie’s soft baritone was too friendly, too worried, too concerned.

Jughead couldn’t take it.

One moment he was lifting himself from the wall, prying his fist from the indent and the next he was flying down the steps outside and into the street.

He barely heard the reverberation of the front door banging on the hinges as it flung open, or the screen door clacking against the siding only to whip back and slam against the doorframe.

Hands down against the wet slicked road, Jughead took a deep breath. The one thing about the rain was it’s comfort in a time like this.

Rivlets were running down his cheeks (he wasn’t sure if it was _just_ rain), streaming through his hair and down his neck, soaking his shirt to his skin. Where he was kneeling in a puddle of water, he felt the gravel from the road, sharp and digging into his knees. Felt the bitter wind slice through the rain, making it slap against his face harshly.

The grumble that turned into a shout of frustration was lost in a boom of thunder.

Jughead wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to be feeling at this point. Except that he was incredibly disappointed.

His mother had never really been a model example, but he had trusted her to take care of his sister. He had chosen (somewhat) to let them go to Toledo without him, so that he could make sure that his father didn’t do anything reckless. Turns out he had chosen the wrong parent to keep an eye on.

There wasn’t really anything he could do about it now.

Sitting back on his heels, Jughead closed his eyes and turned his face up to the rain. Breathing out a sigh, he rubbed his hands against the front of his jeans — soaked through with rain now and sticking to his skin.

A light touch on his elbow had him whipping around and gripping a slim wrist in his hand as he reared back up on his heels, imposing his figure over the other.

“Jughead?”

He relaxed in an instant at Betty’s voice and immediately released her wrist from his grasp. Through the rain he could she that she was already soaked, wet hair hanging in tendrils down her shoulders. He quickly looked away from her, not ready to face her.

“Sorry. I’m… sorry for grabbing you like that,” Jughead shook his head, resting his hands back on his legs.

“It’s okay, Jug. I had called your name about three times already, but you didn’t seem to hear me,” her voice was soothing, and he realized that she had cupped his face in her hand — her fingers warm and gentle against his cold skin. Betty turned his face toward her, and he stared at her big doe-eyes, gleaming green and full of kindness, caring, and unbridled affection.

Her thumb brushed the skin of Jughead’s cheek in an upwards motion and he felt a shiver run up his spine.

“You’re trembling, Jug,” Betty said, her voice concerned as her eyes raked over him and down to his hands. He tightened the grip he had of his knees, locking his elbows tight to stop the shaking he hadn’t been aware of.

“What are you doing out here Betty?” Jughead looked away from her then, pulling his face from her hand and closing his eyes.  

“Archie called me. He… told me what he gleamed happened on the phone with your mom,” her voice was full of concern and he could _hear_ her frown.

“Right. Of course he did,” he spit out more bitterly than he really wanted. Though, he was actually somewhat glad. Betty always made everything better and he was always a little bit happier to see her in times like this.

Her hand had moved to his thigh, clasped over his own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jughead sighed deeply, feeling this pressing weight on his shoulders and a swirl of anxiety in his gut. He couldn’t keep anything from her though. She always knew how to get him to crack open, and easily, like a well read book.

“No,” he said, sighing again. “But I will.”

Sitting there on the wet pavement with Betty kneeling in her pajama shorts next to him made Jughead feel guilty.

“Let’s go up to the porch, maybe get a towel?” he offered, picking himself up off the ground and then taking Betty’s hand and helping her up as well.

They walked back up to the Andrews’ porch and Betty went inside while Jughead made himself comfortable on the porch swing. It was only a minute or two before she came back with two fluffy blue towels, one that she wrapped around his shoulders (which was warm from the dryer) before settling down against him.

Betty curled up next to him, legs tucked underneath her and shoulder pressed against his. Raising his arm up, she gladly snuggled further into his side.

Jughead swallowed the lump in his throat and gingerly began to tell Betty what his mother had said on the phone.

Jellybean had been playing in the yard while his mother had been napping in the hammock. Jellybean had darted out into the road after something, not having seen the car that had been coming down the road.

His sister ended up with a concussion and a broken leg with scrapes and bruises a plenty. It could have been worse though, is what he kept telling himself.

“Juggie, it’s not your mom’s fault and it’s certainly not _your_ fault. Sometimes things just happen that we can’t control.”

Her hands had snaked around his middle and Betty was squeezing him. His hand rubbed up and down her arm from shoulder to elbow, feeling the prickles of gooseflesh on her arm warming under Jughead’s touch.

He pulled his soaked hat from his head with his other hand, plopping it down on the rail of the swing, running a hand through the wet strands. “Logically, I know that. I just can’t help but think about what would or would not be happening if she had taken me there as well.”

Betty spoke after a bit of silence, her voice small and soft. “Part of me wishes you were there because I think you would be happier, instead of sleeping on Archie’s air mattress.”

He squeezed her arm affectionately, but before he could say anything, she was speaking again.

“But at the same time, I never want to think of you not being here with me Juggie. I know that I’m being selfish, but I can’t help it. I can’t imagine us not having investigated Jason’s murder together. You wouldn’t have kissed me — that was the best day of my life when you did,” Betty sighed against him, her nose brushing against his neck gently. He felt his heart pounding faster, this flood of emotions and warmth making him feel _safe_.

She continued speaking, Betty’s breath fanning against him as she leaned against him. “It was like I had been underwater and couldn’t see clearly. You brought me to the surface and opened my eyes. I’m afraid to think about not loving you, because that hurts me.”

Jughead gave a little ‘hmm’ at her words, bringing the arm that wasn’t around her up to pull Betty’s chin up from where it had dipped down. With a finger under her jaw, he tilted her head up so he could look at her.

“Tell me again, that you love me?” Jughead couldn’t help but ask. He needed to hear Betty’s sweet and kind voice whispering the words into his ear.

Her smile was coyish and she tilted her head at him, green eyes twinkling. “Juggie, I love you. I love you so much that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. I want you to know that I will always be here for you, no matter what happens. You are part of my family now.”

Closing his eyes, Jughead let his lips turn up into a small smile and could feel the press of Betty’s lips at the corner of his mouth. Her fingers were hooking around his jaw and then she was bringing their lips together in a kiss that he felt in a flood of warmth all the way to his toes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt inspired by the film titled _Bushwick_ on netflix.

Her lungs were burning from the thick smell of char and smoke — putrid, burning flesh and sharp gunpowder singeing her nose.

The running also didn’t help.

Stooping low behind the half-brick wall, Betty lowered her head close to her knees and closed her eyes. She sucked in deep breaths of ice-cold air that did little to soothe the burn. With a shaky hand, she gripped one knee of her tattered jeans smearing a stripe of dark red blood across her leg.

The problem was that she didn’t know whose blood she was covered in, anymore.

Looking up, Betty gazed at the broad shoulders of the man in front of her. He was kneeling so close she could smell the hint of the spicy aftershave he slapped on that morning. A chill threatened to creep up her spine, but she stopped the shiver midway as she watched him put a finger to his lips as his blue eyes pleaded with her.

It was then, that Betty realized she had been mumbling incoherently since they had stopped to rest. Clamping her mouth shut with a small squeak, her grip tightened on the handle of the gun that Jughead had shoved in her hand earlier.

“On three,” he said softly to her, the baritone of his voice cutting through the sound of gunshots in the distance.

Nodding her head, Betty watched as he motioned toward the alley across the street, the one they were trying to get to. There was a cellar there, the basement of the building Jughead lived in.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Betty raced forward on Jughead’s count. Following close on his heels, she concentrated on the grey pointed spikes of his knitted hat instead of the loud _bangs_ echoing around her as bullets sprayed the pavement.

Somehow, they made it across the street and into the alley behind the dumpster, unscathed. Leaning her forehead against the metal, Betty sighed in relief.

“Come on, Betty, we have to keep moving.”

Her eyes snapped open again and she looked to where Jughead was breaking the lock of the cellar off with a chunk of brick. Rising back up, Betty followed after him into the darkness.

The power hadn’t been cut, but Jughead opted to use a flashlight he had pulled from his pack. He held it between his teeth, both hands steady on his gun as they moved through the erie basement.

They had almost made it to the stairs before the lights flickered on. The sound of a gunshot, white hot in her ears, blasting through the air.

She watched as Jughead crumpled to his knees. The gasp left her just as a hand slammed around her throat. Betty’s back hit the wall and knocked the air out of her lungs, fingers immediately dropping her gun and clawing at the hand wrapped around her throat. He was holding her off the ground, her feet dangling in the air.

Betty’s eyes started to water and her ears were still ringing. The clouded vision of the man masked in black making her heart slam against her ribcage as his voice was loud but incoherent, screaming at her. He was pressing harder into her throat, shaking her, demanding.

It wasn’t as if she could very well answer him.

The ringing in her ears was fading, but so was her vision. Betty’s nails dug sharply into the thick black gloves surrounding her throat, her feet kicking against the solid wall of man. She could hear her own strangled gurgles as her limbs started to grow heavy.  

Betty was sure this was the end, her heart clenching at the thought.

The hand dropped from her throat then, her body crumpling onto the floor as oxygen came flooding back. Her hands touched her throat, coughing as air filled her lungs again. Blinking the burn away, she twisted her body, eyes searching.

Jughead was grappling with man, finally gaining the upper hand and rolling them so that he was seated atop the other. He proceeded to rain his fist down against the man’s face, and Betty swore she could hear the sound of bone crunching.

It became clear that Jughead wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. The man’s body was still, blood flowing from his mouth and nose as Jughead held him from the collar of his shirt, his own knuckles bloodied from the assault.

“J—Jughead,” Betty rasped out, her throat felt as raw on the inside as the skin outside. She reached out to him weakly, her hand landing on his ankle. She spoke again, finding her voice, “Stop.”

His grunting slowed to heavy breathing, shoulders slumping forward at her voice and the touch of her hand. Jughead tilted to the side, dropping to sit on the cement next to the body. Head dropped down to meet his hands as he dug the palms of his hands against his eyes.

“Shit,” he mumbled, voice cracking. He slammed a fist down against the floor, blue eyes snapping towards where she was laying next him. The intensity of his gaze making her want to curl further into herself. Betty’s stomach lurched when his gaze softened, the faraway look in his eyes something that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“I almost lost you, Betty.”

Struggling to sit up, she almost fell back to the floor at his declaration. Though, it wasn’t far from the truth, that was for sure. It was the tone of his voice, the ache behind the words that floored her. Betty imagined the pain he was feeling was similar to the one that ripped through her heart at the thought of Jughead getting shot.

Her eyes drifted down to his left arm, gaze circling the stain of red and visible mangled flesh from where the bullet ripped through him. The churn of her stomach lessened when Betty realized the bullet had only gotten his shoulder, and didn’t look entirely terrible.

A shaky breath left her lips and she fought the urge to laugh.

“You idiot.”

Jughead looked at her then, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Sitting fully upright, ignoring the dizziness that washed over her, Betty shuffled closer to him.

“I think we’ve almost lost each other a hundred times now,” she said, mouth dipping towards Jughead’s ear as she leant on his uninjured shoulder.

Betty felt the shake of his head, wisps of his hair tickling her cheek. One of his hands drew her back, so they were looking at each other. The droop of his mouth making her frown as well.

“I _can’t_ lose you, Betty.”

His voice always did things to her, but to hear it like _that,_ in these circumstances was on another level.

Bobbing her head in a nod, Betty whispered, “I love you, Jughead,” and leaned forward pressing their lips together. Her stomach was still churning from recent events and she winced at the thought of the dead body just inches from them.

Pulling away from him, Betty leaned their foreheads together, their breaths mingling as he whispered his affirmation back to her.

“Let’s get upstairs, we’ve got to patch you up, Jug,” she said, tugging on the sleeve of his utility jacket.

Jughead nodded, and managed to pull both of them up off the ground.

They had gotten this far, together, in the war that overtook the entirety of Brooklyn in a day. It wasn’t without suffering or loss, however.

The image of Betty’s sister, Polly, and the bullet through the middle of her forehead would haunt them both.

When they made it upstairs, the idea of patching Jughead up was pushed to the wayside as they found a dying man, gaping hole in his chest from a shotgun blast.

Back of her hand pressed to her mouth, Betty bit her tongue, eyes filling with tears again. Jughead dropped to his knees by the man, his shaky fingers finding the man’s bloody ones and gripping tightly.

Jughead’s choked voice breaking her heart into pieces as anguish filled his features.

“Dad…”

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The advertisement did not do you justice” AU for bughead_
> 
> Thanks @coopersjones on tumblr for the prompt!

 

It was a silly thing to create a craigslist ad at all, let alone for a date. 

Well, a fake date.

Or a real one? 

Betty wasn't sure yet. 

The only thing she  _ was _ sure of was that Veronica wouldn't shut up about how improper it would be if she were to show up at her wedding festivities single. Improper  _ how _ , she wasn't sure, but if it got bridezilla off her back then maybe she could breathe for one fucking second. 

Getting forced upon dates and setups for every outing was enough to drive her mad. Every day a different guy that did something to drive her up a wall by the end of the night. Was she really that picky or was she just bitter?

It was exhausting on top of work and helping to plan the wedding itself without having to fight off wandering hands and bad breath.

 

(Perhaps that’s why the words came out of her mouth without warning in the middle of their Sunday brunch. 

“I’ve got a date for the wedding.”

“...You do?”

“Don't look so shocked, I can get dates on my own.” 

“Well, color me impressed. You didn't tell me you were seeing someone.” There was a lilt to her voice, eyebrows arching and head tilting as she stared across the table. 

Betty squirmed. 

“Only a couple times. I didn't want to say anything in case it didn't go beyond those first dates, but he’s very promising. Tall, dark, handsome.” 

“Well, mon chérie, he sounds like a real prince charming then. Bring him to the cake tasting.”)

 

It couldn't be anyone that Veronica knew, otherwise she’d know right away it was a ruse. With a sigh, Betty realized she should not have had that second mimosa. 

Now, two weeks later she was meeting with the man that answered her ad and passed her qualification test. Which was essential for weeding out murderers, though nothing was final yet. They could still be a psycho. So, public place it was - a coffee shop. 

The name  _ Jughead _ did not dismiss her fears. 

She did look him up on social media. Or, she tried anyway. All he seemed to have was a Linkedin account and an Instagram that had last had a photo posted (one of a whopping twenty total) thirty nine weeks ago. He was good looking at least, from what she could ascertain from the obscure angles and dark, mood lighting from the couple of pictures of him that were on his profile. 

Betty didn't blame him. It added to the mystery (though she really  _ really _ hoped he wasn't a serial killer).

He was wearing a beanie, clad in blue flannel and dark jeans, sipping a coffee from a large blue cup. There was a second cup waiting at the table, calling her name like a siren. 

Despite being a little shocked at how attractive he actually was (her ad did specify dark hair and taller than her meager five-foot-six, but beauty was subjective — and he was beautiful). 

“Jughead Jones?”

He looked up from the book that he was hunched over when she slid into the seat across from him. “Wow, the advertisement did not do you justice, at all.”  

He effectively stole all the breath from her at the low timber of his voice and the intensity of his gaze as it swept over her. The corner of his lip turned up and he straightened up in the chair, offering his hand out for her to shake. 

Slipping her hand into his, she tried to ignore the jolt that shot up her arm and the lingering buzz left behind as she attempted to fiddle with her coffee when they released. “Thanks?” 

“Not that I’m knocking your photography skills — but I think you’re a little out of my league, don't you think?” 

Jughead raised an eyebrow at her and she watched it disappear underneath a curly forelock of hair. 

Her nose scrunched up as she picked up the spoon from the saucer, twirling it in her cup as she poured a hefty dose of cream from the dispenser. “Hardly. I’d say we're on the same playing field.” 

His chuckle made her smile into the cup as she took a sip of the pale colored drink. 

“In your dreams, maybe. But this is your gig, you call the shots. So,” he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest in a way that certainly drew her attention, “What's this about needing a date?” 

Setting the cup back on the saucer, Betty rolled her eyes. As if they hadn't been emailing back and forth for several days about just why she needed a date and the unusual conventions she was going to in order to get one. 

“Well, Mr. Jones, I need a date for a ball. But there are a couple stops along the way. First is cake tasting—”

“Okay.” 

Her eyes widened, “Just like that?” 

He nodded, “Just like that. I’m in, Betty.” 

Head tilting, she chewed at her lower lip. “...Is it because I said cake?” 

“That might be one factor, but certainly not the most significant. How could I turn down going out with someone so beautiful? Real or not, I’d be an idiot.” 

Warmth spread through her chest, giggle high in her throat as she smiled. “Well you’re off to a good start, real or not.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @jughead-jones on tumblr for sending this prompt! 
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> _“Why do you always walk your dog at exactly 12am every night? Do you not enjoy sleep?” AU + Bughead_

 

Every night, like clockwork, the sound of barking just outside her window between the hours of midnight and twelve-twenty wake her up before she manages to fall into rem sleep.

Of course, Betty figured that a first floor apartment might be noisier with foot traffic and mowing and general outdoorsy activities, particularly in the summer. But she worked an eight to four position at the Riverdale Public Library, she was just a page at the moment, but was working on her masters degree in order to be an actual librarian. So it’s not like she needed to sleep during the day or some strange hours.

Never had she thought this was the direction she’d be going, but she liked it nonetheless.

_If. Only. That. Damn. Dog. Would. Shut. Up._

She would find herself in bed by ten-thirty each night, read (something decidedly unlike a textbook) for half an hour and then when her eyes got tired, flick out the light.

But every night since she’d moved into the apartment a month ago, the sound of barking woke her up.

It’s not even that loud or long, particularly. Usually an excited ‘yip’ or two and then it's quiet, but it's enough to jolt her awake and find herself having trouble falling back asleep afterwards.

There have been several times that she scrambled out of bed, and threw open her curtains to try and find the offender but there was never anyone there. She supposed by the she got up, they had already rounded the corner.

It was frustrating and no amount of melatonin or noise blocking curtains could seem to prevent that one inevitable bark.

 _She knew_ it was stupid, but it didn't make it any less true.

It was even on the weekend, which wasn't so terrible, because she was usually still awake at that point. Which was why this particular Saturday Betty had left her day clothes on and thrown on a jacket to combat the September chill and was sitting on the curb at eleven-fifty just outside her window.

“This is stupid,” she mumbled into the sleeve of her coat, arms crossed around her knees.

Once twelve-oh-six hit, her head pulled up at the sound of footsteps coming down the sidewalk. The pitter patter of paws and combat boots were coming right towards her. Suddenly she was standing and turning, hands on her hips, unmoving as the duo came closer.

The first thing she noticed was _hair_ , both the shaggy mane of the dog she recognized as a sheep dog and the dark hair on the tall mysterious owner who was wearing denim on denim.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk slowed their walk, confusion spreading over the man's face as excitement took over the dog’s, tail wagging.

There was the bark, ringing in her ears, several beats in a row this time as he strained on the leash to try and get to her, but the man held him back with a firm grip.

“Are you crazy?” she blurted out, as he seemed to wonder whether to try and walk around her or not.

His eyebrows raised into his hairline and he looked over his shoulder before pointing to himself. “Me?”

“Yes, _you._ ”

“No. Are you?”

Her nose scrunched up and she shook her head. “No.”

“Okay,” he drawled, “So why are you blocking the sidewalk so late at night? Alone?”

Blinking, Betty forgot for a moment that he didn't know she woke up every night when they passed her window. Clearing her throat, she gripped at the edges of her sleeves. “Why do you always walk your dog at exactly twelve every night?” she asked, hoping she didn't seem hysterical, waving her hand in the air as indicted the darkness. “Do you not enjoy sleep?”

He laughed. “I do generally enjoy sleep, but I work second shift at Pop’s. So I have to take Hotdog out when I get home.”

Her eyes fell to the shaggy dog, who was sitting on his bottom now, tongue out and staring up at her with wide eyes just begging to be pet. Her fingers twitched.

“Hotdog?”

“The third.” He shrugged.

It was an odd choice, but she found it endearing despite wanting to be angry at the pair of them. It was getting harder by the second. “Well, Hotdog here always seems to bark when you walk past my apartment.” She gestured to the building, with a frown. “It wakes me up every night.”

He looked stunned for a moment, tilting his head. “Light sleeper?”

“I guess so.”

He sighed, nodding toward the bed of flowers under the window to her bedroom. “Hotdog likes those flowers. He always has to stop and sniff around them. Daisies?”

Betty planted those flowers when she moved in, glad to have some sort of outdoor space even if it was just the length of her apartment. She couldn't blame Hotdog though, they were pretty. “Aster, actually. But they do look like daisies.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorry he keeps waking you up. We’ll go the other way from now on.” He turned, tugging on the leash. “Come on, buddy.”

Chewing on her lower lip, she watched Hotdog whine pitifully, refusing to budge. It had her mouth curling up. “Stubborn little guy.”

The man rolled his eyes. “He just wants to be pet by the pretty girl.”

“Oh really?” She asked, quirking a brow as he looked away quickly. Crouching, she planted one knee against the sidewalk and offered out her hand, palm up for Hotdog to sniff.

He immediately bumped his head into her hand, rubbing his wet nose along her fingers and lapping at them before wiggling under her hand.

Combing her fingers through the fur at the top of his head, she sighed when he panted gleefully at the attention, tail thumping against the ground. “I guess he’s pretty cute,” Betty said pointedly, looking up the length of the leash through her lashes to watch pink bloom along the man’s cheeks.

“Thanks?”

“You're welcome?” she echoed with a laugh, his own chuckle making her smile. “I’m Betty, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know. You work at the library, right? I come in sometimes before my shift to use the wifi.” He had taken a step closer, plopping his hand down on the dog's head while she stroked the sides of his neck and torso.

She supposed Riverdale _was_ relatively small, considering. It wouldn't have been impossible that they'd come across each other before, but she figured she’d remember someone who looked like him.

The way he was looking at her now, blue-grey eyes so vivid even under only the light of the streetlamps, she felt like he could _see_ her. Like she was an open book and he was flipping through the pages.

“I’m Jughead.”

“Well, it's a pleasure, despite my oh-so tactile methods of a stakeout to find out who has been driving me crazy.” Their fingers brushed when Hotdog barked, lunging forward and licking a stripe up her cheek that had her knocking backward onto her bottom as she fell into a fit of laughter.

“I think he likes you,” he said with a boyish grin, bending down to pull at Hotdog’s collar to get him to back away.

Betty wiped at her face with the back of her sleeve with a smile. “Well, I think I like him too, though he is very forward.”

Jughead extended his hand to her, and she slipped her hand into his as he pulled. Though, he was stronger than he looked, as he pulled her straight to his chest, fingers slipping from her hand to curl around her waist fleetingly. “I guess he just knows what he likes.”

 _Oh no_ , she realized with an ache that settled in her chest.

“I guess it would be rude of me to force you to change his routine, huh?” she asked quietly, watching the corners of his mouth turn up in recognition.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@jane-hoppers](https://jane-hoppers.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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